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It seemed my weekend plans had just escalated—more than a little prematurely.
I jabbed the contacts icon on my phone with more force than necessary, my finger hovering over Riker’s name. “Hey, Old Red’s about to become a bonfire,” I said the instant he picked up, not bothering with hellos. “Meet me there?”
“Five minutes.”
“Make it three.” I grabbed my keys, already heading out the door.
My car roared to life—well, okay, sputtered. It was a Kia, after all. But if it could have echoed the restless energy that thrummed through me, it would have roared. As I weaved through traffic, the city seemed blissfully unaware of the magical showdown brewing under its nose.
At the first stoplight, I dialed again.
“911, what’s your emergency?” asked the dispatcher, her voice a calm in the storm I was driving into.
“Hiya, I just passed by Old Red—yeah, the courthouse—and I swear I caught a whiff of smoke inside,” I said, injecting just the right amount of concerned citizen into my tone. My acting skills needed work, but panic was universal. “Thought you might wanna check it out before anything... fiery happens.”
“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll send a unit to investigate immediately,” she replied, efficient and none the wiser.
“Much appreciated,” I said, ending the call with a tap before she could ask my name. A part of me felt like a con artist pulling a fast one, but desperate times called for borderline illegal measures.
I glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my purple hair looking more than a little… let’s call it rebellious.
I should’ve dried it before I fell asleep.
The courthouse loomed before me, its red sandstone facade a silent sentinel in the quiet of the weekend. Closed up tight, it seemed blissfully unaware. “Old Red” was many things, but a weekend barbecue joint wasn’t on the list.
“Good thing the city’s bureaucrats fancy their Saturdays off,” I murmured to myself, scanning the empty steps for any sign of life.
“Talking to yourself now, Tessa?” Riker’s voice, low and teasing, cut through my thoughts.
“Hey, sometimes I need expert advice,” I shot back with a grin, appreciating the solid comfort of his presence appearing beside me.
“Looks clear,” he said, his eyes doing a sweep of the area that was probably more thorough than mine.
And then came the wail of sirens, slicing through the silence, flashing lights painting the dark street with streaks of urgency. The fire department rolled in like a cavalry of modern-day knights, minus the horses and shining armor, but with far better equipment. They moved with practiced efficiency, hoses at the ready, eyes sharp for signs of danger.
“Nice of them to make it a party,” I said, my gaze following their every move from our vantage point just out of the spotlight.
“Let’s hope Zayn doesn’t decide to crash it,” Riker replied, the lightness of his tone at odds with the tension in his jaw.
“Hope his invite got lost in the mail,” I said. Firefighters fanned out, their helmets gleaming under the streetlights, and I admired their bravery. They ran toward potential flames while most people would be running away—kinda like us, except our fires tended to have tempers and vendettas.
The firefighters disappeared into the belly of Old Red. If only putting out magical fires was as easy as dousing the regular kind. But then again, where would be the fun in that?
A chill skittered down my spine, an ironic response considering the inferno of a situation we were in—and the heat outside. Sweat dripped down between my breasts.
That’s when it happened. Smoke, thick and sudden as a magician’s cloak, billowed around us, blotting out the sunlight and weaving through my curls like mischievous fingers.
“Son of a banshee,” I muttered. Riker stood statue-still beside me, his broad form outlined in the eerie mist, ready to rumble at the first sign of trouble. Which, knowing our luck, was about to be any second now.
The air turned heavy, charged with a kind of electricity. The whisper was barely more than a breath, a snake’s hiss laced with dark promises and darker threats. “I knew this would bring you to me.”
“Creepy voice in the fog is so last century,” I called out, trying to sound bored rather than borderline petrified. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, what with all the things that go bump in the night treating my life like their personal amusement park. But nope, every hair on my body was standing at attention, and not in a good way.
“Show yourself!” Riker demanded, his voice a low growl. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for supernatural hide-and-seek.
“Careful,” I warned under my breath. “You might just get what you wish for.” And with entities like Zayn, that usually came with a side order of pain and property damage.
The smoke swirled, danced, and thinned, but remained an impenetrable curtain between us and whatever—or whomever—was using it as a stage for their dramatic entrance. I reminded myself that despite my less-than-stellar record, I was still very much a hunter. And hunters don’t back down—not from fire, not from magic, and certainly not from djinn who didn’t know the meaning of ‘subtle.’
